


SPORTS

by inheritor



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritor/pseuds/inheritor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave gets to third base with his beefcake boyfriend. It's just unfortunate that he's terrible at sports.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SPORTS

**Author's Note:**

> this was very fun, but this is all very much thanks to the handsome and mysterious stranger who left the suggestion of 
> 
> "does bad, awkward, clumsy sex count as a kink? ridiculous teenagers fumbling around?" 
> 
> and i just wanted to give credit and thanks, i appreciate it a lot ;3;!! it is a super cute and great idea

“Shit, Dave, that’s my nose-”

“That’s my elbow, asshole, your nose broke my elbow-”

“That’s not how it works!” 

Dave knows baseball. John and Jade and Rose, who was full of snarky horsebull, all exaggerated his lack of prowess in the sportly arena. Especially John, with his goofy grin and handsome dark complexion and stacked muscles like he was building five goddamn brick houses and who the hell even needed that many brick houses- John holding the baseball bat in front of him, saying things like is this a touchdown Dave do you call this a puck, goddamn, he knew enough baseball to know there wasn’t that song and dance with pucks and touchdowns. Baseball was the sport of home runs and bases and hoops and nets with the little red cards, and most importantly, baseball was a SPORTS metaphor for sex, and Dave knew his bases. 

Stepping up to bat was the time he put his hand on John’s shoulder when they were doing a biology diorama, and John was trying to tape in the shitty mitochondria and Dave slid his hand to touch his shoulder for half a second, but it was a half a second that left his hand feeling scalded for days, and it counted. And half base was the time John pretended to yawn during their latest movie marathon, sliding his arm over Dave’s shoulder, except he was obvious and a loser and just because he lasted longer for a half second didn’t mean that he was cooler. 

First base was their first kiss after the Winter Formal, and they were playing Magic: The Gathering in John’s room and Dave accidentally slipped and pinned John to the bed and the mouth proximity was practically begging for sloppy makeouts, which they did, and John said it was awesome. And then he said it was more awesome when they played tongue hockey (which Dave knew it was the game with the sticks and the heavy ball with three holes) and then he said it was still awesome when Dave almost pinched his tongue in John’s heavy duty braces, just awesome that needed safety precautions.

Second base was when John’s father was downstairs, watching Andy Griffith, and they were lying in bed with the chair over the door and the windows shut. And John had kept kissing him, and his hand had gone to his side, and he started to rut against him through their clothes. To be quite fair, Dave had been wearing a thin T-shirt that day, and tight jeans that made his boner obvious. John gripped him down there and his hand was warm and Dave was horny, so he tried to return the favor. And like he expected, his idiotic friend had a banging package in his cargo shorts, and he groped around against the cloth and rubbed against it with his palm. They probably could have gone to third base, except the posters in John’s room were always watching and John’s father was walking downstairs and John had his big strong hands over him and it was just a lot to take in when he still had an essay on Romeo and Juliet due tomorrow, so he jacked off in John’s bathroom and didn’t look John’s father in the likely non-existent eyes as he lad scampered back home. 

So when John’s father went on his business trip, John was quick to invite him over for their third and home base, because really, touching John’s junk in the trunk was a home run in itself, and not to mention the touchdown that wins the sports champion cup. So they were sitting on his bed, doing some petting over the clothes, breathing hard with Nick Cage’s transient face on the posters just bearing down upon them like some movie star train with a one way ticket to boner killer land. 

“So, should I turn out the lights?” John lay there, face flushed and squirming under his hands. “In the movies, they turn out the lights.”

“We watch different movies.” Dave shrugged, playing it cool and pretending he didn’t get to have sex with his best boyfriend. “I guess we can turn out the lights.”

Despite almost breaking his elbow on John’s studly nose, they managed to compromise on a night light and settled back on the bed. Dave wiped his palms on his jeans, conscious that he was sweating through his shirt. His armpits probably had sweat stains. He shouldn’t have compromised on the night light, it should have been all dark, except John was sitting in front of him with his face entirely flushed and staring up at him. It was worth the sight. 

“So, um.” John twisted his hands into his shirt. “I guess we should take off our clothes and touch each other and stuff. Except I should do it like a gentleman.” 

“Yeah. Cool. I’ll do it like a scoundrel.” 

“You go first.” 

“What?” Dave crossed his arms over his chest. “You go first.”

“I’ve seen you in your swimsuit before, Dave!” 

“You go first.” 

“I am rolling my eyes!” 

Dave could see him rolling his eyes. He could also see the way John’s hands slipped under his shirt, sliding it off with fingers still clinging deep into the cotton, self-conscious. He kept a stone cold face as he watched John undress, the gentle slope of cake curve over his stomach, those muscular arms that built goddamn brick houses, that dweeby grin as John slipped his shorts over his knees. He still kept his socks on, the ones with the little ghosts, and his boxers, red. Hesitantly, John reached over to kiss him, helping to pry off his shirt. Even though they had gone swimming together and John had helped him with the floaties, he still felt conscious about the scars emblazoned on his back. Some of them were tight and pink and close lipped, and the others blasted a dark shade, jagged and deep over his back and stomach. And he felt bare in his skin, too thin and weedy, but John was kissing him in his slobbery way. John always kissed with too much slobber, wet and moist and fingers fumbling as he tried to unbutton Dave’s jeans. He tried to slide them down, giving him what he might have thought as seductive, but really looked like a mischievous wink had gone terribly wrong and froze his face like that. 

Except Dave’s jeans got stuck around his thighs, even as he sat up and tried to pull them down.

“Do you paint these on? Jeez, Dave.” John dug his fingers against the waistband, pulling harder until red stripes started to appear on his skin.

“They’re designer.” 

“They are not!” 

He finally managed to wiggle them down, and John pulled him closer for another kiss. He was all teeth and all clumsy hands, touching along his back. Dave wasn’t used to a half-naked boy wonder kissing him, and it felt electrifying, every time John pushed him harder into the bed frame and their bare skin melded together. John, as a person, seemed to have a lot of skin. Dave kept touching it, gliding against his back, accidentally stabbing him in the thighs, grabbing onto his hair in a way that made John wince. But it was quiet, except for the sound of panting, and the bed springs dug up into his shoulder blades. John nearly kneed him, but Dave managed to squeeze over to the wall in time, and it was just a deep thigh press to his genitals instead. 

Dave thought it was obvious he was sweating, even if John was too busy kissing him to say anything about it. The blankets were sticking hot to his back. The air was musky and John smelled earthy, human, full bodied and rich scent, with a tinge of kiwi from his shampoo. He grinded down over him, hot and skin slick, with thick hands that petted him down and clenched hard enough to leave bruises. But Dave was a lanky teenager, and his pointy elbows were digging into John’s side, but whenever he tried to move it, he seemed to make it worse, knees bumping over him, noses smashing together, and John only made little faces at the bony jabs. 

John was pawing at his underwear, now, tugging at the waistband and looking him in the eyes. Finally, Dave helped him ease them off. It wasn’t much hotter outside the underwear than inside, but at least with his raging hard-on contained, it wasn’t as embarrassing to have his boner saying hello to the world, with his worst and only crush looking down on it. He flushed and tried his best to pretend not to care, except he’d never been naked in front of him, and John was staring. 

“So this is Little Dave?”

“John Egbert, if you say another word out of those big flopping lips of yours, I’m going to lock you out of this room and eat all your homework.”

“What? Dude. No, it’s a nice dick. I- You are a hot guy, Dave. With a great dick, you should name your dick. Like name him Horace or something.” John pressed his finger over the slit, making his dick nod solemnly. 

“Fuck, dude, I am not naming my dick after some ancient grandpa.”

“No! He’s totally a Horace.” John put on a falsetto voice. “Hi, Dave! It is me, Horace! Your dick!” 

“Get your hands off my junk, you’re killing boners everywhere.” Except that was a lie, a shameful lie, where John’s hand on his dick was just making him harder and intensely turned on. It was just unfortunate that it coincided with Horace the Talking Penis. 

“Yeah, okay. So should I use my mouth or something?” 

Dave looked at John’s braces. John’s braces looked back at him. 

“Hand. Hand’s fine. Handjobs are a modern man’s quickie.”

“Are you sure? Because I got a great mouth, probably, that is as smooth talking as Matt McConaughey’s snappy comebacks in _Failure to Launch_. Probably. Except, don’t worry, Dave, I will not fail to launch.” John winked at him, elaborate and winsome, and Dave thought the worst thing about having a boner was that he had to say he was sprouting a boner while John was talking about Matt McConoface.

“You better not. I want you to jizz all over my face, huge cum just dripping down my mouth, it’s a waterfall of sperm like the greatest white whale in the world, use your boner like a paintbrush and whip it across my face and fuck my mouth like a-” His words drop out as John tugs down his own underwear, pulling his boxers to his shins and nearly tripping over them as he sits up. 

“Dude, are you blushing?” John peered at him. 

“No. Shit. It’s the fucking dark, you can’t see anything in the dark.”

“What happened to the jizz waterfall?”

“Just shut up, Egbert.” 

He sits uncomfortably for a moment, staring at John’s dick, just as John sat and stared at his. Being naked in front of John was new. Seeing another dick, that was not a puppet dick, was new. He tried to suavely reach out and touch The Dick, but he rammed his knuckles into John’s stomach in his haste. Even as John snorted out huffily through his nose, he slid his hand down the magnificent dick beast to the curly hard hairs, cupping the balls and weighing them in his hand. 

“Fuck, your balls are huge. Jesters juggle balls like these, they’re the cannonballs of the yesteryear.” 

“Dave, shut up and start—sexing.” 

He had a witty comeback, but then John reached out and started to stroke him across the shaft. He was twisting his wrist in a painful way, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he pressed his cold fingers to investigate this foreign penis. His fingers slipped up to the head, rubbing at the slit with his thumb like it was a joystick and he was playing to win. But he, too, started the sexing, moving his hand up and down methodically. His hand, gripped tight, went up. And down. Up. And down. Like a metronome, methodical and unfeeling to his boner. 

“John, you suck at this.”

“What? No way. I’ve done this to myself, you know.” 

“Then I feel sorry for the life you’ve lead, jacking off to Matt McConohoo’s face or whatever. Let me show you how the master does it.” Dave started to stroke him, keeping his hand fisted tight over his cock as he pulled back and forth until John shoved him back, hands dropping to cover himself, curling around his middle. 

“Ow, ow, ow! You suck at this! My dick is soft, Dave! It is a soft dick and it is sensitive and it does not need your manhandling!” 

“I fisted your weenie perfectly,” he told him, feeling the flush spread to his chest. He adjusted around on the bed, scowling at him. 

“Don’t call it a weenie.”

“Don’t call my dick Horace, dillhole!” 

John rolled his eyes, reaching out to start touching him again. His grasp was too tight, but Dave leaned back and let him work his hand over his dick. Despite the harshness, it was nice to have John, boy wonder and full-time nerd, work his way over his cock in his clumsy fashion. He carefully rested his fingers over John’s head, curling through his thick hair, and John looked up at him with bright eyes. His bare back curved over to his bare butt, his ghost socks still sticking out underneath him. His hand worked in measured time over him, the pressure against his shaft and his fingers brushing underneath the head, soft underside to his balls, the touches making him short on breath and toes curling into the blankets and John had the nicest eyes and sweetest smile and his cock was so swollen and dark and hard and John was lying there between his legs and

“Whoa.” John pulled his hand away, still wet with white shallow puddles in his palm. “That was fast.” 

Dave tried his best not to flush up, or flare up like an angry cat as John described it, but his limbs felt shaky and he wished he still had underwear to angrily tuck in his cock. Instead, he reaches out clumsily until he finds the cock, and strokes it lightly. He keeps his touch feathery and delicate, which seems to appease John as he settles back, legs cautiously spread, fingers curled on his blankets, and those gazillion abs just handsomely breathing in the dim catch of the dragon night light. 

“Hrnggh,” John said, or moaned, and Dave tried not to laugh. His mouth twitched, but he didn’t laugh. John seemed to enjoy his touch more, cock stiff and sticky at the top, thighs flexing in solid lines, head thrown back and 

“Nnnnnnn,” John said, or moaned, and Dave still tried to keep a straight face. His eyes flickered to John’s heavy eyelashes, fluttering in the dark, the small twitches from his chest as he got closer, the

“Gurrrggghhicchhh.”

“You’re just fucking with me now, aren’t you.”

“What?” John tilted his head at him, eyes lidded and face flushed.

“Nothing.” He left out the part where John sounded like all the humpback whale recordings he had ever heard. Mostly from his music. Instead, he pretended not to hear him, fisting and driving down his fist with all the gentleness he could muster, light touches down the twitching cock until John came, fortunately quietly, in short spurts over Dave’s hand. He shuddered with his entire frame, eyes twisted closed and legs drawing up in short jerks. 

“God, Dave.” John heaved in ragged breaths, head tilted back. “That was…”

“Your jizz smells like piss.”

After John had finished walloping him with a pillow, he took off the nightlight and passed him over the box of tissues. They got dressed in their pajamas, and John insisted on cuddling, though his insistence needed some prodding, which Dave did by talking very loudly about the chill of the night. But it was John who wanted the cuddling. Not him at all. He permitted John to put his burly arms around him, holding him close and tight. 

“We did it, mang. We had the sex. We totally sexed it.” John squeezed him. “Right?”

“Hell yeah we did. 10/10, would do that again, flipping off the sex beam and doing an acrobatic pirouette to the grand slam home field, doing the triple play to the dick holding and weenie touching base, the ball goes in the hoops, and then the stick.”

“Dave?” 

“Yeah.”

“You’re my best friend, and my best boyfriend, but please don’t ever talk about sports and sex in the same sentence ever again.” 

“Yeah, all right.” Dave patted his hand. “Even though I totally won the sports sex champion cup.”

“Dave—”


End file.
